After enjoying the triumphant moment of victory, Ingolf was on his feet and promptly got to work turning those ice chains into bindings capable of keeping the Barghest captive. He was really stretching himself thin considering how he was still maintaining the wall, but it had to be done. Once he had reinforced the chains, he called Thorvald over, before quickly relaying his orders.
“Alright Thorvald, we’ve got to move quickly. First, see if we have any casualties, identify those nursing injuries, grade the severity, and then come to me with the numbers. Then I can go through our supplies, and see if we will be able to heal those who need it the most. Second, we need to dispose of the corpses – and quickly. Throw every single corpse into the flames. This all has to be done urgently, Thorvald.”
“Understood, Boss.” Thorvald said as he saluted, before calling the others over.
Ingolf looked at Saheed, who by now had gotten to his feet and was fixing his clothes. He looked at Ingolf, and the two shared a smile and chuckle of relief before looking around the camp.
“So, we have to get rid of these corpses, but…”
“I know where you’re going with this, Ragnar.”
Both men’s gazes moved to where the slaves were all standing, as well as the Tall Slave who was standing in front of all of them. They had seen how easily he dispatched the Barghest, and despite how weak the Beast actually was, it still had them somewhat unsettled.
“He hasn’t interfered before, so why would he start now?” Saheed said, as he was trying to convince himself more than anybody else.
“I guess he wouldn’t.” Ingolf said, not sounding all that convinced.
“Exactly, my emaciated friend. Since you had a conversation with him earlier, you should be the one to go get rid of him so the slaves can get to work.”
Ingolf looked at Saheed, who ended up avoiding eye contact and quickly shuffling off. He wiped his forehead with the back of sleeve as he did, and walked towards where his men were standing. Ingolf sighed and shrugged before walking over to where the slaves were standing. Ola had slipped away from the group and slid next to Ingolf, who refused to even acknowledge his presence. They made the short trip in silence, with the sounds of the crackling flames as well as Thorvald booming orders in the background filling the camp. They quickly reached the outside of the slave tent, and stopped, standing before the Tall Slave who had yet to move a muscle since killing the Barghest. Ingolf looked at him, then then at the slaves behind him. There was a brief period of silence that was as awkward as it was soul crushingly silent, an Ingolf became uncharacteristically flustered.
“Inyama!” He blurted out as some kind of a bizarre greeting, raising his open hand in a weird wave.
The silence continued, only this time, Ingolf received some rather strange looks from people who were considered to be sub-human at best. The Tall Slave looked at Ingolf with a raised brow as the silence persisted. Ingolf sighed as he looked down towards the ground, attempting to hide his embarrassment. He quickly put it behind him though, and started speaking, all the while pointing and making gestures as he did, hoping the Tall Slave would get what he was trying to convey.
“We need the slaves behind you to get to work moving these corpses and putting them into a pile to be burned; the sooner the better.”
There were slaves behind that understood what Ingolf was saying, and translated for most of the others that didn’t. The Tall Slave just watched Ingolf’s gestures instead of listening to what he was saying, and after a few moments spent trying to decipher what the sign language meant, he bent down and picked up the corpse he was responsible for, and carried it over to where there was a large concentration of bodies. His steps were surprisingly slow, as if whatever urgency present was lost on him. There we eyes on him from all corners, as slaves, slavers and mercenaries all watched him in silence. He eventually reached his destination, and promptly tossed the bits of Barghest onto the floor. The other slaves took this as a sign, and began carrying, dragging and pushing the hundred odd corpses over to where the tall one had dumped his. While this was going on, the rest of Ingolf’s orders were being implemented. The injured were being grouped by the uninjured by order of the severity of the injuries, which was being handled Thorvald and his people, while Henrik’s people were looking at the available curatives. Ingolf was looking through the stash of ingredients, while Ola’s people were standing guard by the giant hole. Brynhild’s people were dragging the still unconscious Beast over to a clear area in the camp. Saheed and his people weren’t actually taking part in any of the activities for some reason, as most of them had quickly and silently entered their carriage without anybody really noticing. There were a few of them standing outside, as if there to prevent anybody from disturbing those who were inside or something. Inside the Demon Tooth carriage, Ingolf was in conversation with Henrik about the curatives.
“So essentially, if we ration what we have, everybody in the camp will be able to at least get something?”
“That’s right, Boss. But we’re talking some extreme rationing here. Like everybody gets one sip, and that’ll have to suffice.” Henrik stated in a somewhat hushed tone.
“Fuck… that would be fine if we only had minor injuries to deal with, but a lot of people have broken bones and such. Not life threatening or anything, but if they were to have to fight again tonight, things would be difficult.”
“Well, what about our stash of ingredients? Do we have anything we could use to make some emergency healing potions? Or a poultice… or salve? Or are those the same thing”
“Whether the same or not, I wouldn’t fucking know how to make one. This isn’t good.”
“Agreed. Either we have everybody heal a little bit, or we have those with the more severe injuries heal up, while leaving the others to heal up themselves and hoping that more Magical Beasts don’t attack. You’ve got a tough decision to make. Boy am I glad I’m not the boss! Later, Boss!”
Henrik punctuated his potting by patting Ingolf on the back and then floating out of the carriage. Ingolf sighed, and followed after him, and looked toward where the injured had been corralled. Just then, Thorvald and Ola popped up, along with Henrik.
“Where’s Brynhild?” Asked Ingolf.
“You know how she gets when she’s hurt, Ingolf.” Thorvald responded.
“Oh yeah… my condolences to whoever has to deliver her healing potion.”
There was a brief chuckle shared by the group, as they smiled somewhat. Ingolf and Thorvald were sporting a few broken bones between them. Ola was clean and untouched due to his having fought at range, while Henrik somehow looked even better than he did at the start. He seemed to be shining, his skin glossy and healthy looking. His hair was also somehow still perfect, and he was neither covered in scratches or mud like the other two. Henrik suddenly noticed the glares he was receiving and his gaze shifted between Thorvald and Ingolf.
“What?” He asked with a small shrug.
“You need to die.” Ingolf said in a tone that sounded a little too sincere.
“Eh?” Henrik said with a small chuckle, before Ingolf sighed.
“Alright guys, here’s the situation…”
Ingolf started telling Thorvald and Ola about the current situation regarding the healing items, with his gaze occasionally drifting over to those who were waiting for treatment. Once he was done, the other three looked at him with a somewhat sympathetic expression on their faces, waiting to hear what exactly the plan was.
“Do you guys have any recommendations?” Ingolf asked with a shrug.
The three of them shook their heads in unison, clearly placing all the responsibility on his shoulders.
“You motherfuckers…” Ingolf said with a mild scowl, before sighing.
He was just about to decide when the four of them felt the presence of somebody who wasn’t part of the group suddenly approach them. They all looked to see a small, slightly hunched over figure. It was the old slave who they had figured was probably the oldest person in the entire caravan. She had a sweet smile on her face as she raised both hands and bowed her head apologetically.
“Forgive me for interrupting and for eavesdropping, Sirs. I couldn’t help but overhear what you were discussing, and I think I may have a solution for you, Demon Tooth Leader.”
Everybody looked at the frail looking figure standing before them. She looked as though she was about to topple over at any given moment, yet she had also shown a remarkable amount of physical capabilities for somebody who appeared to be her age. She smiled sweetly once more, the numerous creases on her leathery looking skin stretching as she did.
“Is that so, Old Slave? And just what is solution?”
“During the course of my life, I have been many, many things; and one of those things was an alchemist.”
The four men’s eyebrows suddenly perked up as the old woman said this.
“I also happen to be part of the group of slaves that cooks, so I know what ingredients we have available. Many of the everyday ingredients that are used for cooking can actually be used in medicinal soups and potions.”
Once again, the guys were shocked, baulking somewhat at this revelation. None of them had any knowledge about any of this, so they were caught by surprise.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
“Do we have any of these here with us?” Ingolf asked.
“Yes, Demon Tooth Leader, we do.”
“So where does the solution come in, Antique Woman?” Henrik said as he plucked a long whisker out, and then made a squealing noise as he rubbed the area he had pulled it out from.
“Well, I can use the herbs and such to… stretch the curatives that are currently available.”
“How?” Thorvald asked, wanting to join in the discussion.
“I will combine all the healing material, along with those ingredients and herbs with the strongest medicinal effects in one large pot, and making a large enough quantity of it that everybody who was injured can get as much as they possibly can.”
“I see.” Ingolf said with a nod.
“Will the healing effect be watered down, or boosted?” Ola said, finally speaking before getting a dirty look from Ingolf.
“If I’m correct about what we have available, then I may be able to make the potion at least two times as powerful. But don’t hold me to that estimate – my memory isn’t what it once was.” The old woman said with a breathy chuckle.
There was a period of silence as Ingolf contemplated whether or not having this old woman who claimed to be an alchemist concoct something that they were more than likely all going to drink at some point or another. This woman, despite offering to help, was still a slave, and had legitimate reasons to not only hate the Izdurian Slavers, but the Demon Tooth Mercs as well. The possibility of being poisoned was high, despite the fact that if they were all to die, the slaves would possibly be killed and or eaten. His instincts were telling him that he didn’t have as much time as he would have liked to deliberate over the entire thing, and made a quick decision.
“Alright, let’s do it. However, you will have to do it under the supervision of one of us at all times.”
“Of course, I understand. I am a slave, after all.” She said with a nod.
Ingolf nodded, before looking at Ola and gesturing with his head that he should stay with the old woman. Ola looked shocked, before nodding and saluting. He then led the old woman into the caravan to not only collect the curatives, but the other ingredients as well. Ingolf snorted derisively at Ola before turning around and looking out at the camp.
“I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but you were suddenly on his case after speaking to that Boss Level Barghest… what’s going on, Ingolf?” Thorvald asked in a somewhat hushed tone.
“Nothing for you to worry about, Thorvald.” Ingolf stated in a tone that Thorvald knew well.
“Very well. Henrik, follow me. We’ll go get whatever potions and stuff the men have. Maybe adding more of them to the brew will help make it stronger.”
Henrik nodded and followed after Thorvald as he walked towards the rest of the Demon Tooth Mercenaries. Ingolf watched as the slaves continued piling up the corpses of the Barghests. He allowed himself a moment to remember his broken rib and multiple bruises and wounds. He smirked and chuckled as he realised he likely needed the Old Slave’s brew more than anybody else. He suddenly remembered the hole the Barghest had made when it entered the camp, and with a sigh, he made his way over to it with the intention of fixing it. Meanwhile, over at one of the fires, Ola and the old woman had gotten everything set up after around fifteen minutes. They had gotten a few slaves to assist them, and the old woman was helping, with them all chopping and dicing the ingredients. There was a pile of potion filled bottles close to the work area. They varied in size and strength, with some in more cylindrical, tube shaped bottles and lighter in colour, and others a deep, dark red – almost looking like blood. A large, black pot was on the coals, and filled with water, and after a few minutes of chopping and dicing, ingredients started flowing into the pot. Sometime during the chopping and such, the Tall Slave had appeared, and was standing directly behind the old woman. She would occasionally stop her very quick and extremely dexterous knife work to look back at him and smile, but was only met with stoic silence, and unblinking eyes. There was something about the intensity with which the eyes were looking at her, which not only made her feel uncomfortable, but actually break out into a slight sweat. While the other slaves began adding the diced ingredients as well as poured the potions and salves into the water, with Thorvald and Henrik having added quite a few potions to the mix. The old woman looked back at the Tall Slave once more. This time however, his gaze held hers, and she suddenly found herself unable to look away. The sounds of the crackling fires, of the conversations that were going on around her, the groans and moans of the injured, even the sound of the wind howling from beyond the camp walls, everything was suddenly drowned out, and she couldn’t hear any of it. She was also unable to see anything beyond and either side of the Tall Slave; all she could see was him, and his eyes. She suddenly felt as though he was looking inside of her. His sight felt tangible; like a tentacle creature invading and forcing its way into the recesses of her mind. There was a feeling of immense discomfort, which became painful and it felt as though if she didn’t look away, her head was going to explode. It took every ounce of strength and will power for the old woman to avert her gaze from his and look to the side. She managed to it, however it felt as though those tentacles were forcefully removed from her head, and pulled out through her eyes. It was an excruciating process and even though all this happened over the course of a few seconds, it felt as though it had taken an eternity. In the course of those few seconds, the old woman had started sweating profusely, and was breathing heavily, gasping for air as if she had been submerged in a large body of water for a near fatal amount of time. She quickly got a hold of herself however, and before anybody could really notice, she regained her composure and turned around to go check on the now bubbling brew. She stumbled somewhat as she hobbled over, and despite having never done so before, the slaves that had been roped in to help with the prep assumed it was done because she was old, and they were nearly six hours into the Second Night Cycle. She attempted her patented ‘sweet old lady’ smile, hoping it wasn’t evidently obvious that she had been shaken up. She got to the pot, and stirred it slowly, and soon afterwards, Ingolf arrived and stood next to Ola.
“So?” He asked, without even looking at Ola.
“Nothing odd or funny happened. She got ingredients, she got some helpers, then they all chopped the stuff, and added it to the pot. She just had something of an old person wobble, but it’s late, and she’s old.” Ola said as he finished with a shrug.
Ingolf noticed the presence of the Tall Slave, waiting for Ola to mention him, but there was only silence. A few seconds later, Ingolf actually looked at Ola and shook his head.
“What about him?” He asked.
“Oh right, he just popped up outta nowhere, and stood there. He’s been watching the old woman like a hawk, and hasn’t moved a muscle since he started.
“I see… maybe he had the same idea as I did, but the question is… why?”
“I couldn’t tell you, Boss.” Ola said with a shrug.
Ingolf then walked over to the pot, and began talking to the woman.
“I see everything is going according to plan?”
“Ah, Demon Tooth Leader…” The Old Slave exclaimed as she looked up and smiled. “Yes, everything is on track. Luckily, this isn’t a stew or a soup, so it doesn’t need to cook for long. I would recommend it be left to cool for a bit before being fed to the injured.”
“I can take care of that. How much longer until we can start having people drink the… is this a potion?” Ingolf looked rather confused when he sought clarification as to what the bubbling liquid was.
“I guess you could call it one. Also, it can be served as soon as it cools.”
Ingolf grabbed his staff and pointed it at the pot. He instructed some slaves to remove it from the fire, and place it on the ground nearby, which they did. His staff was still pointed at the pot, and the head glowed blue before a jet of what looked like rather frosty mist flew out and hit the pot. This jet only lasted for around a minute, before Ingolf stopped it, and placed his staff back on his back. One of the slaves lifted the lid off the pot, and revealed the now ice cold potion. Ola, who had joined Ingolf, looked suspiciously at the deep red potion. Ingolf seemed to have a look of skepticism on his face as well, because the old woman suddenly dipped her ladle into the pot, and without wasting any time, brought it to her lips and gulped down every last drop that was in the ladle. She then looked up at the two men and smiled.
“Nothing to fear, Sirs. This is perfectly safe, and has a nice, berry finish!” She cackled somewhat amusingly as she set the ladle down.
Ingolf, who was still eyeing the old woman to see if she would spontaneously explode or something, finally stepped up to the pot and dipped the ladle in himself, before opening his mouth wide and knocking the brew back as if his life depended on it. It got to work almost immediately, and he felt a warm, tingling sensation through his body as his wounds started legitimately healing. The effect lasted for ten seconds, but that was all Ingolf needed to be sold on the healing abilities of this liquid. He looked at the woman and nodded before smiling.
“Fuck me, this really does work. Alright, let’s get started.”
Ingolf called over Thorvald and Henrik, and together with Ola, they worked out a system. They decided to start with those who had the heaviest injuries and then work their way to those who weren’t that bad. The Demon Tooth Mercs all lined up, receiving a healthy amount of the potion. As this was happening, the Old Slave walked up to Ingolf.
“Forgive the interruption once again, Demon Tooth Leader. Wasn’t there another member of your inner circle? That woman who uses a sword and shield?”
“Ah shit, Brynhild! We almost forgot about her. Quickly, have a slave bring her a large bottle with at least four or five ladles of the potion in it.”
“Wow, that’s quite a bit, isn’t it Sir?”
“It really is… but Brynhild has this uncanny ability of being able to keep fighting, no matter how much damage she takes and no matter how many broken bones she has. If she’s conscious, she will fight. That ridiculous ability has gotten us out of quite a few scrapes. The problem with that is she usually takes ridiculous amounts of damage, and has so many injuries that it’s almost a mystery how she manages to pull through. She’s also… well, when she gets injured, she… just have one of the uninjured Mercenaries accompany the slave that delivers the potion. She’ll probably be behind our carriage.”
The Old Woman looked at Ingolf, and just nodded, before walking off. She filled a large bottle with the brew and instead of finding a slave to make the delivery; she shuffled over to make the delivery herself. She also didn’t mention what she was doing to a Mercenary, and disappeared behind the carriage. She was immediately hit in the face with an intense heat, which was coming from further back. There also seemed to be a while light surrounding the hunched over figure of who had to be Brynhild. Her breathing was ragged and raspy sounding and she looked up, gazing at the Old Woman. The gaze wasn’t nearly as intense as the one that came from the Tall Slave, so it didn’t have the same effect on her. Brynhild’s eyes were glowing white, and were hostile.
“Excuse me…” The Old Woman said. “I was sent by the Demon Tooth Leader to come and give you this. It’s a healing potion of moderate strength. It should be able to help you.”
There was no response from Brynhild, only more heat. She slowly stood up, her right hand firmly gripping her sword. Even without being able to clearly see Brynhild, it was apparent that she was injured. Her body was riddled with so many bruises that were all swollen, that it looked as though her skin was bubbling. Her left shoulder was swollen so much, that she looked like a hunchback. Her arm was bent tucked close to her body. It was clear that it had been quite badly dislocated, and was in need of medical attention. All this was visible because Brynhild had discarded her armour, and was dressed only in her under garments. She started approaching the slave, who didn’t seem to be the slightest nit daunted. With each step Brynhild took, her eyes would glow brighter, and after a few moments of calm, Brynhild suddenly leapt forward, sprinting towards slave with her arm and sword raised. Just as it appeared as if the Old Slave was going to be forced to defend herself, Brynhild received a kick to the stomach. A foot that had come from behind the Old Woman dug into her gut, doubled her up, and sent her flying back to where she was originally sitting. The Tall Slave appeared from behind the Old one, stepping beside and then in front of her. The Old Slave, unbeknownst to her, had started shaking slightly, and even looked down to ground, as if remembering how the previous exchange of looks went for her. He stopped and looked back and spoke.
“I don’t trust you, Old Woman. Don’t forget that I see you.”
He spoke as if she understood him, but he didn’t have time to say anything further as Brynhild charged him as well. He moved forward, striding purposefully and met her somewhere near the middle. She began swinging her sword, her diagonal sword slashes being evaded by a twisting torso. The tip of her sword always felt as though it was agonisingly close to piercing flesh, but it never did. Whether coming from right-to-left, left-to-right, or any other direction, the wild swings missed their mark every single time. The Tall Slave didn’t even bother raising his bound hands to try and block anything; he just evaded every single attack from the faintly glowing sword. He ducked beneath a particularly loopy swing and quickly dashed behind Brynhild. He raised his foot and thrust it into her lower back, pushing her forward with some force and resulting in her slamming face first into the Demon Tooth carriage. She bounced off of it, and almost immediately the bounce, she felt two hands press themselves against her swollen shoulder. They then pushed the shoulder into the carriage wall hard. They moved away at the moment of impact, and as the shoulder made contact with the wall, both the sound of the shoulder hitting the wood, as well as the bone being forced back into the socket were both so loud, the Tall Slave was sure even the Beasts beyond the camp walls heard them. After her shoulder was popped back into the socket, Brynhild let out a scream similar to the one she made when it was first dislocated, but this time, she was silenced almost as quickly as she was made to scream, as the Tall Slave placed his right hand on the back of her head, and slammed her forehead into the carriage wall hard. She wasn’t completely knocked out, but she was dazed enough that she was perilously close to losing consciousness. He then quickly lowered his arms, straightening them and using his arms to brace her from behind, taking a knee and having her fall back into him as he did. She was braced on his arms and his knee, and the Tall Slave then looked over at the Old Slave.
“Hurry up and have this Pale Woman drink that concoction!”
The Old Slave quickly responded to the order, shuffling over as if she understood, once again. She opened the bottle, and spoke in a gentle voice as she pressed the top of the bottle against Brynhild’s lips.
“Open your mouth, Demon Tooth warrior. As I said before, your Leader sent me to heal you.”
Brynhild, who was barely conscious, opened her mouth and began to drink. The more of the red fluid she swallowed, the more of it she would accept into her mouth before she was actually holding the bottle with her recently emptied right hand. Half a minute later, the bottle was rolling on the ground, completely empty and Brynhild’s body was glowing as she was being repaired as much as was possible by the potion. By the time she ceased glowing and the effects of the potion wore off, Brynhild’s shoulder was more or less healed, as were the many broken and fractured bones that were in condition due to her having been slammed on the ground so many times by the Barghest. She had been hiding it, but she was in really bad shape. She was now at least able to function at somewhere above half-strength. It took a few moments, but the intense warmth Brynhild was feeling on her back and posterior suddenly registered on her mind, and she finally noticed the Tall Slave looking down at her. She looked directly into his eyes, and immediately became lost in them. They were dark brown, but she could have sworn that they were glowing with a deep, rich golden colour. They made her forget her pain, her recent frenzied state, and how she had gotten her ass kicked just moments prior to this. She lost all notion of the concept of time, and continued to gaze deeply and hungrily into his eyes. Her own eyes began to sting somewhat, as she hadn’t blinked in a while. She was scared to blink, lest this sensation she was currently experiencing disappeared. All of a sudden, the sensation ended as the Tall Slave stood up abruptly and dropped Brynhild onto the floor. When she hit the cold, slightly gummy mud, she snapped out of her daze and heard the sound of Demon Tooth Mercenaries screaming for the attention of Ingolf. Ingolf was making his way over to the screaming men, and when he reached them, he was greeted by the sight of the Boss Level Barghest, sitting with its legs crossed, looking directly at him.
“Well it’s about time… I have a few things to ask you, now that you’re awake…”